Chapter Nine

“No!” Micky lunged forward, knocking Mike out of the way and spinning to the ground as the bullet tore straight through his arm. Mike was on his hands and knees immediately, clawing his way back over to Micky’s side. Peter just stared, unable to believe his eyes.

Micky yelped as Mike touched his bleeding limb. “Ow!”

Peter roared, lunging into El Diablo and sending the stunned bandito to the ground with the force of his attack. Several rifle butts slammed into his back and sides, driving him to the ground. Mike looked back and forth, torn between his friends and his emotions. He wanted to rip El Diablo to shreds, but he also wanted to get his friends to safety as quickly as possible. He looked up at the bandit leader, his expression one of a man tottering at the edge of mindless rage. Dragging his attention away from the source of his anger, he tore off part of his shirt and tied the strip tightly around Micky’s upper arm, just above the wound. Micky let out a yelp that curled Mike’s flesh.

Peter rolled over onto his side, coughing. He spit out a bloody mouthful and glared at El Diablo.

El Diablo frowned thoughtfully. “You have shown loyalty, gringos . . . but not to me. But such bravery I have not seen in many years . . . ” He advanced on Peter, raising a fist. “But you . . . dare to strike El Diablo . . . !”

Mike leaped to his feet, grabbing El Diablo’s fist. “Don’t. I’m warning you.”

Peter gasped out, “I know where Davy is . . . ”

Mike nodded, turning his full attention to El Diablo. “We’re taking Davy out of here.”

Micky struggled to his feet. “Now.”

Peter nodded toward one of the banditos. “He has Davy’s ring.”

El Diablo just blinked as Mike went over to the bandit, holding out his hand for the ring. When the bandit refused Mike sprang into action, delivering a few swift kicks and punches that reduced the man to a trembling lump on the ground. He pulled off the ring, slipping it into his pocket, and turned to the bandit standing nearby, who quickly handed over the bracelet before he could meet the same fate.

“You are not what you seem, gringo,” El Diablo rumbled.

“Release Davy.”

“And if I refuse?”

Mike’s eyes narrowed. “Then we’ll release him. Painfully for you.”

El Diablo laughed once more, though with considerably less confidence. “Look around you, gringos! You are alone, outnumbered, and three of you are helpless!” He advanced until he was nose to nose with Mike, trying to use his size to intimidate the thinner man. “What makes you think you can defeat me?”

Mike didn’t even flinch. “What makes you think you won’t lose?”

El Diablo didn’t answer that. “Take them,” he rumbled, pointing to Peter and Micky. “Go back to your home and never return.”

Mike shook his head. “Not without Davy. Or without your word to stop beating on Angelita.”

“That is not your business, gringo. Be thankful that I am being this generous and giving you these two. Do not make me change my mind . . . ”

“You’re as stupid as you look, Diablo, if you think I’m leaving here without all my friends.”

“We’re at an impasse,” Peter said as Micky reached down with his good arm and untied his hands. “You won’t let Davy go and we won’t leave without him.” He struggled to his feet.

Mike sighed and took a step backward to stand in front of his friends.

El Diablo looked at his men, then stared at the ground, his forehead furrowed in thought. Finally he looked up. “One of you will fight for him. If you win, you leave and never return. If you lose, I keep the small one and send you back to the villages minus your tongues.”

“I will,” Mike said grimly.

“Mike, you sure?” Micky said.

“I’m the only one who can. Unless Davy . . . ?” he looked at Peter.

“Davy didn’t look hurt, but . . . he’s been tied to a tree all night. I don’t think he’ll be able to move fast enough.”

Mike nodded. “Then I’m the only one who can.”

El Diablo pointed to two of his men. “Go and get the little one.” He scanned the small crowd, beckoning to five of them, calling them by name. “These are my best fighters, gringo. If you beat them, you leave.” In response his men began the rituals peculiar to battle—the removal of jewelry, hats, and belts, and the handing of their guns and bandoleros to comrades standing nearby. Mike nodded and removed his own guns, bandoleros, and hat.

“Mike, are you sure about this?” Peter said, carefully laying them aside.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes you do,” Peter said firmly. “You can let me fight.”

He glared at him. “You can barely walk!”

Peter returned the glare. “I don’t have to walk. I have to fight.”

He looked sidelong at the men. “Peter, you’ve been beaten pretty badly. You up to it?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. I . . . I gotta do this.”

Mike squeezed his shoulder. “All right.”

Peter straightened, limping into the loose circle formed by the men. They closed in and attacked immediately, not even giving him enough time to bow.

Micky’s fingers dug into Mike’s arm. “Mike! We can’t just stand here! We gotta do something!”

Mike held Micky firmly by the shoulders, his eyes never leaving Peter. “We are. We’re lettin’ him fight for us.”